


Beneath his Fingernails

by janonny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), So much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 18:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14478180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janonny/pseuds/janonny
Summary: Everything...everythingreminded him of what happened.(Warning: Infinity War spoilers in this fic.)





	Beneath his Fingernails

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers for Infinity War! Major, major spoilers!**
> 
>  
> 
> This is Canon Divergence because I’m writing this as Tony never having been with Pepper in a romantic relationship, but they are still very good friends. That's the only change.
> 
> I’m officially wallowing (and loving it, let’s be honest), so this is my wallowing in angst fic. I wrote most of this immediately after the movie in a mad emotional rush.

It was the wind

It was the rustle of leaves.

It was the smell of dust.

It was the whisper of paper.

Everything... _everything_ reminded him of what happened. Of watching as these heroes around him, who had fought so hard, disintegrate before his eyes. Of hearing the sound as their bodies, as their very being crumbled and fluttered away.

Of...

Of...

Of Peter.

 _Peter_.

How Peter was so scared. How Peter didn't want to go, clung to him, insubstantial as the wind. He was so scared, he was so young, he pled like he thought Tony could make a difference.

Peter saying _I'm sorry_... and...

Gone.

Crumbling to nothing but dirt and dust.

Leaving Tony grasping at the air with an arm covered in dark brown grainy dirt, with the broken particles that had once been _Peter Parker_. Leaving Tony crying into his cradled hand, his tears washing away what had once been Peter.

Every barest sound reminded him of what happened.

He couldn't sleep. He relived it in his sleep, heard it in his dreams, felt it on his hands, tasted it on his tongue.

He hadn’t slept on the flight back to earth, even with Nebula piloting.

He had spent the flight not dying but injured, wishing he was dying not injured.

He had spent it wondering who was turned to dust, dead, gone.

Excruciating days, filled only with the agony of not knowing. He went over the list of names he had over and over again, praying, begging, bargaining, knowing with certain horror it was already too late.

He had come back to the compound to find it fuller yet emptier than before. There were more people there than the last time he saw the place, but less than there should have been.

Tony knew he was terrible. He was terribly selfish and selfishly terrible. Because he saw Rhodey and he thought with an instant rush, _oh thank you, god, thank you. Rhodey, I still have Rhodey, I haven’t lost him too_. Even with the others gone, even though he knew so many people were lost, he still had Rhodey, and that made the world a little easier to live with.  

He saw Steve and even though he had tried to pretend, had tried to believe he didn’t care, the relief had been almost painful. Steve was still here, still whole, still together, not disintegrated into the wind with no trace left. _Steve still existed in this world._ And that mattered more than Tony wanted to acknowledge.

When Tony turned — turned from looking at an intact, whole Steve Rogers — to Rhodey, before he even asked, when he could see Rhodey’s eyes filling with tears, he already knew.

The sudden ringing in his ears was so loud, he couldn’t even hear the words, only see Rhodey’s mouth shape them. _‘I’m sorry, Tones.’_  

Pepper and Happy.

Gone.

Dust.

He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t even been there for them, to hold them, to see them go, to breathe them into his body and carry them with him, inside of him. He had nothing of them, because there was nothing left of them.

It was like being hollowed out from the inside. It was like relearning how to live and breathe and think again with a whole section of his brain carved out.

The loss had almost been too great to grasp, too painful to believe. He couldn’t accept it, he couldn’t digest it. 

The rest of the original Avengers team were there too when he first arrived. Bruce, Nat, Thor and Clint. He was too numb to feel relief, even as he mentally noted his relief. He was glad they were alive. He just couldn’t feel gladness, couldn’t feel anything.

They clasped his shoulders, grasped his arms in relief when they saw him alive, put their arms around him when they saw his numb shock. They were there, the whole team, back together in the same building. It was like going back in time again, back before the Accords, before Ultron, before the whole mess.

The team was together again.

Except for the gaps. Except for the empty spaces.

Sam and Wanda and Vision.

And outside of the team, T'Challa and Bucky...

Gone as well.

Just like that.

The amount of lives lost… Half of humanity, half of the whole universe.

It was unimaginable.

It was an atrocity.

And they had to live with it. They had to keep going on.

They had stood in the same room, all of them, all that was left of the Avengers, gathered in the common room because no one could summon the energy to find a conference room. What would be the point?

Just two weeks ago, Tony could have never imagined that they would be here, the two of them, Steve and Tony, Captain America and Iron Man, standing in the same room and debriefing with the rest of the team. Steve stood in a corner, far back, not looking at Tony. Tony stood behind a couch, leaning heavily on the back of it, not looking at Steve.

Steve and Rhodey and Bruce explained what happened, described everything from Ross to Wakanda to Thor's arrival to Vision's sacrifice to how none of it mattered.

Tony had explained their decision to take the fight to Thanos, described their fight on a wasteland of a planet to their ultimate failure to Nebula dropping him off and then fucking off because none of it mattered.

Rhodey had come forward and Tony didn't remember anything from that, only remembered opening his eyes again, leaning on Rhodey's shoulder, dried tear tracks on his face and still, forever and ever, the gritty feel of dust on his fingertips.

A pall settled over everyone, over the team, over the world, shrouded them in muffling dark despair.

The team was just... existing. Like automatons. Like machines stuck in a loop of disbelief and loss. Like they couldn't comprehend the gaps in their ranks, even though they hadn't been in those ranks fighting together for a very long time.

Gaps in the team, gaps in their lives.

Pepper and Happy...

Tony couldn't grasp it. He couldn't imagine it because he didn't see it happen. They were civilians, they were meant to be safe.

But no one was safe from Thanos.

He kept forgetting they were gone too, kept reaching for the phone because he missed them, god, he missed them so much, he needed to talk to them, to see them just one more time...

But they were gone too.

He couldn't forget about Peter.

Peter's wide eyes, his trembling voice, the grit that was left behind...

He couldn't get it out of his head. It was with him, every second of every day.

He had to live with it, but Tony didn’t know how.

How was he supposed to continue when he couldn’t touch anything without feeling the gritty remains, when he couldn’t hear anything except people coming apart, when he couldn’t see anything but fluttering particles behind his eyelids?

So at midnight, Tony knocked on the door.

They hadn't been avoiding each other. That would require effort, which they didn't have. They hadn’t spent any time together either, one-on-one. That would require effort too, which they didn’t have.

But Tony couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t slept for so long. And he was ready to try something, _anything_.

So he knocked again.

And waited.

And when it swung open, his words died on his lips.

Steve looked like he was losing it. His beard was thick and wild, his hair too long and a mess, like he had been pulling at it. His eyes were red, like he had just been crying. Maybe he never stopped crying now, for his superserumed eyes to be visibly affected.

This Steve looked drained. Lost.

Tony needed… but he couldn’t ask, not when Steve looked like he had nothing to give.

“Never mind,” Tony said, and turned.

Steve reached out, caught his elbow. It was the first contact between them, Steve’s large hand folding around Tony’s arm, anchoring him still. Tony froze.

“Wait. Why— What was it?” Steve said.

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Tony, please.”

Always, always with _Tony_ this, _Tony_ that. No matter how much distance Tony tried to put between them, Steve was breaching it with an expectant look, the familiar way he called Tony’s name.

“Do you want to spar?” Tony asked, quiet, hushed, like he was saying something else of great import instead.

He didn’t even know if that was why he came here. He just knew he needed to get out of his room, needed to look at Steve and do… _something_.

Now that he was here, all he could think was this wan, lifeless version of Steve contrasted against the grim-faced Steve, attacking his reinforced punching bags with relentless vigour, pounding out his anger and despair. This Steve… he wasn’t trying to spend pent-up energy and emotion. He had none left. He had given up.

Tony needed the other Steve back. He couldn’t keep doing this, going on like this on his own. He _needed_ that other Steve back. He needed someone on the team to drive it, to give it life, to give it strength. Because he had none left of his own to give.

Steve’s frown seemed permanently etched in place now. Tony couldn’t read his expression anymore. It just read as…

…dead.

_The feel of dust._

“I just need, I need to stop all this noise. I thought, maybe you might need the same,” Tony said, trying to interrupt his own mind at work.

Slowly, Steve nodded, as if convinced by those jumble of words. “Alright. Let’s go.”

He stepped out from his room, not shutting the door or taking anything with him. Not caring. He was in a T-shirt and sweatpants. It would do.

Tony stopped in the locker room, pulling on his hoodie. He hadn’t worn it since… everything. He thought it would feel comforting, familiar to pull on the thick hoodie.

It just felt heavy.

Steve was watching when he walked into the combat-ready sparring room, capable of withstanding repulsor blasts and shield smashing to some degree. He was watching when Tony pulled at the tabs on the hoodie and the fabric molded itself against his torso and arms, turning into his underarmor. Then he pressed on the arc reactor and his armor unfolded from it, glittering nanites creeping out and over until he was completely covered in his best Iron Man suit yet.

It just felt cold.

Steve watched on, eyes tracing the suit, but he only remained quiet, withdrawn. He didn’t even question the presence of the suit.

“I’m wearing the suit so you can really go all out,” Tony said, gesturing at the triangular shields Steve had retrieved from his weapons locker and carried now on each arm, a gift from T’Challa.

T’Challa who was gone now.

“Alright,” Steve said, like it didn’t matter. Like nothing mattered.

He started to circle Tony.

Tony didn’t want this to be a cautious sparring session. He couldn’t take that.

He threw himself at Steve, right gauntlet raised. Steve moved back, brought up his left shield. But Tony was already pivoting on a heel, spinning around as nanites formed a large shield on his left arm which he swept towards Steve’s midriff. But Steve was already sidestepping, bringing his own dark shield up to knock the blow away.

Tony pushed forward, bringing up the shield again and using the strength of the suit to ram his shield against Steve. Steve took a few steps back, didn’t even bring his own Wakandan shield up to take the impact standing, instead avoiding the blow.

Tony felt a flicker of irritation.

He kept charging, shifted midway and tried to sweep Steve’s legs out from under him. Steve leapt over the attack and then parried another blow from Tony.

It continued like that, a one-sided dance. Tony attacked, Steve defended. Tony lunged, Steve ducked.

It wasn’t a fight. Not really. The flicker of irritation grew, caught fire.

“Did you want your other shield back? I’ve been using it a serving tray,” Tony said, words tumbling out of his mouth without thought, fuelled by this burning urge to poke, prod, get something out of Steve.

“No,” Steve said, succinct, uncaring.

Tony gritted his teeth and alternated between punches with his right gauntlet and attacks with his shield on his left arm. Steve blocked the blows and alternated between falling back and blocking with both shields.

His face was still wan and withdrawn, unchanged.

Tony attacked with both arms and when Steve raised his own shields to block the blows, Tony lashed out with a kick to Steve’s stomach. But Steve twisted away, knocking Tony’s leg away with his own.

Steve wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t even trying.

“Are you going easy on me?” Tony snapped out, trying to jab at Steve again with his shield.

Steve only shook his head. But that was a lie. Another lie. Because Steve was only defending, not hitting back.

“Because I’m not going to go easy on you,” Tony snarled, trying to punch Steve in the face, but Steve only moved back, trying to dodge and block.

Tony’s mouth kept moving, as if to make his own words true. “If you had signed the Accords, we could have all been working together to fight Thanos. We could have stopped him. We could have _saved_ them.”

He punctuated his sentences with blows to Steve’s shields.

This time, Steve flinched.

“They would have been alive if it weren’t for you,” Tony said, cold and relentless as he brought his gauntlets up again.

Steve dropped his shields.

They clattered to the floor as Tony froze, hands still in the air.

Steve’s lips were trembling. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Tony.”

Tony lowered his arms, surprised to find himself shaking as well. “Can’t what?”

“I can’t fight you,” Steve said, blue eyes dull even when sheened with unshed tears. “I’m tired, and I can’t… I can’t fight you anymore. I don’t want to. I thought I could try, if you needed, but I just can’t.”

The exhaustion, the desolation in Steve’s voice, it pierced something in Tony, cut through his all-encompassing grief and the inescapable feel of grit beneath his nails. He looked at Steve’s pale face, at his wet lashes and trembling mouth, at how small he looked and sounded… and he felt something different.

Empathy.

“We, we don’t— Let’s stop,” Tony said, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

“It was my fault,” Steve whispered, like he _couldn’t_ stop, now that Tony had started him. “You’re right. If I had signed the Accords, we could have fought them together. We could have had a chance. But— But—”

And suddenly, Tony was stepping forward, as he caught Steve beneath his arms, Steve whose knees just gave out beneath him, who had tipped forward like he was just going to crumple to the floor right there in front of Tony.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, oh god, I thought I was, for the team, I thought,” Steve sobbed, not hiding the way the tears spilled out of his eyes, not caring as he gasped out his agony. “But so many people… so many people died. They just disappeared, Tony. They just… gone. And it’s _my fault_.”

Tony let his nanites retreat back to the reactor to leave only fabric behind, so that he could feel Steve’s skin and flesh beneath his palms. “No, no, it wasn’t your fault. Steve, it wasn’t. I was being an asshole, I just wanted, I wanted—”

To fight. To feel _something_ other than his own endless grief. And now he could feel something else, but it was Steve’s pain instead.

“You were just telling the truth,” Steve said, despair saturated in his voice and eyes.

“ _No_ , I wasn’t. I was being a dick on purpose. It wasn’t your fault. Nothing we planned for could have stopped Thanos,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. His tone turned bitter. “I thought I was prepared for what was coming, but I had no clue, no fucking clue. We were nothing to him, we were less than ants, pointless creatures for him to play god over. Nothing would have made a difference.”

Steve shook his head, tears still slowly dripping down his bearded face, unheeded. “You tried, you prepared, that’s better than— I was useless. I—”

“You helped on earth. You fought the aliens in Wakanda. If I had just stayed in bed, it would have made no fucking difference. I threw everything I had at him, and all I did was scratch him, a tiny scratch. I got a fucking drop of blood. We were nothing to him, Steve. At least you could fight his army, at least you made a difference there.”

“The wrong kind of difference. I made the wrong call. I made… I wanted to save Vision. Maybe, maybe if I had… maybe if I had asked…” Steve broke off with a wounded gasp, like just thinking about it was a physical strike against him.

Maybe if he had asked Wanda to kill Vision? The idea turned Tony’s stomach, thinking of _Steve_ asking anyone of that sacrifice. Murder for the sake of salvation.

“No. No, Steve. Don’t,” Tony insisted, voice thready, not knowing what to say, gripped with horror at the thought. “You would have just delayed the inevitable. Once Thanos had the Time stone, he would have just reversed anything you did. We— We lost even before we started.”

Steve looked at him, teeth clenched as he kept talking, like he was suffering physical agony, like talking about it was killing him, but he was going to keep going. “Bucky… He called my name, he looked at me and just disintegrated. He turned to nothing, right in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even get to— I didn’t get to go to him.”

Tony curled a hand around Steve’s shoulder, squeezed, shocked at his own lack of instinctive recoil at Bucky’s name, his heart too full with fresh pain to even feel old wounds.

“And Sam,” Steve said, his voice wobbling badly. “No one saw him go… He died alone, Tony. Rhodey was calling his name, was looking for him, and, and there was no one… There was only earth where Bucky and Sam went, these piles of ash. They didn’t even know—”

A wretched sob broke out of him. Tony couldn’t bear it, couldn’t look at Steve like this. He wanted something out of Steve, but not this. This honest pain pulled at Tony’s own, threatening to drag his own shadows out into the light. Steve was still crying, shaking with the guilt and grief of it, and Tony couldn’t look anymore.

He pulled Steve in, hid Steve’s face in his own shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look at the raw pain that mirrored his own.

“Tony, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Steve said, almost incoherent. Tony didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. He just clutched Steve close as Steve cried onto him, gripped the back of Steve’s hair, trying to ground the two of them, trying to anchor them into place so that they would stop falling apart…

…falling apart like how the others did, falling apart into nothing.

“I’m sorry too, Steve,” Tony whispered. “I’m sorry we lost. I’m sorry we couldn’t— we couldn’t do anything.”

He had to keep repeating that. Over and over again. They couldn’t do anything. They had tried, they had tried so hard, but they couldn’t do anything.

Steve’s voice was still wet and hoarse when he whispered, as if confessing a grave sin, “I just wish, I wish I could have said goodbye. I just keep seeing the way Bucky just… dissolved… his face, how he was scared…”

 _He was so scared_ , Tony remembered, _he hadn’t wanted to go_.

“He hadn’t wanted to go,” Tony whispered, a pained rasp. “Peter… Peter was holding me, he was trying to hold onto me. He was telling me he was scared. He said _he was sorry_. The kid… that dumb kid…”

Tony clutched at Steve’s shoulders, tears coming all of a sudden, coming when none could come for days, as if they had been dammed up before and nothing was going to stop them now. He cried onto Steve’s shoulder as Steve curled his arms around Tony’s back and held him close in turn.

He forced out the words through the pain in chest and throat, needing to flay himself open, needing someone to hear his burden. “I didn’t want him there. I tried to make Peter stay behind. He said, he fucking said, he couldn’t be the friendly neighbourhood Spider-man if there was no neighbourhood left. He wanted so badly to help. God, I wanted him to just be safe, but it would have made no difference. He would have, he would be—”

 _Gone_. They were all gone.

“We tried, we just… we couldn’t fight those stones. But we tried, Tony. And Peter, at least he got to try too. At least they all got to try, to fight for what they believed in,” Steve said, harsh, squeezing Tony tight to him like that could make it true.   

“What did I miss?” Tony scraped out. “How could I let this happen? I wasn’t even here, I didn’t see Pepper and Happy, I don’t know, were they scared? Did they know? Oh god, I keep feeling this dirt, this grit, and I know it’s Peter beneath my nails, I can still feel him on my hand.”

He sobbed, hands clenching and unclenching at the memory.

“Nothing, you missed nothing, we were— we have nothing that can fight him. We lost,” Steve rasped out.

Tony shook and shook, pressed his head harder against Steve’s shoulder and wished he was the one who disintegrated, who disappeared, because the world was a better place with Peter in it, not Tony.

“We lost everything,” Tony said, despairing.

Steve hugged him tighter. “I’m so sorry, Tony. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Tony said, not willing to look up, but meaning it. Meaning it so badly, because he was sorry, filled with guilt and regrets and sorrow, he had so much to be sorry for.

He had been looking for a fight, but he didn’t want to fight anymore. Now he knew what Steve meant. He didn’t want to fight Steve anymore. He was tired of fighting Steve.

Tony didn’t remember the next few minutes clearly. More tears, more shaking, like there was a neverending river of grief flowing between the two of them now.

They stumbled back to Tony’s room, although Tony didn’t remember discussing the destination. They took turns washing their faces in the ensuite bathroom before falling into bed. They mostly just stayed close, like they needed to, couldn’t separate with this shared pain between them.

They were curled towards each other on the bed, two mirroring commas with hands clasped in the middle.

They whispered and sobbed and choked and cried.

“I hope it didn’t hurt, I hope it didn’t hurt for any of them… I keep seeing Bucky’s face and thinking, why didn’t I go find him earlier, when he woke up.”

“I tried to keep Peter at arms’ length, but he wanted so badly to help. He just wanted to help. He was so young, and he was so good.”

It went on and on like that until they were exhausted, until they were out of words and tears.

But for the first time, Tony didn’t feel grit and dust beneath his hands. He just felt Steve’s warm palms against his own.

# # # # # #

Tony woke. Slowly. He was warm, engulfed in warmth. He had spent the last few days waking from nightmares, cold, alone, empty. In contrast, he felt warm, surrounded, quiet.

He blinked blearily and looked into blue eyes. It wasn’t morning yet, Tony could still see how dark it was outside the windows behind Steve.

Steve watched him from almost too close, solemn and quiet. He placed a hand on Tony’s cheek, cupped it. Tony pressed his own hand to the back of Steve’s, holding him in place. They stared at each other for a long time. They knew what was coming.

Steve leaned forward, kissed Tony, a press of dry, slightly cracked lips. It felt warm, comforting.

It felt inevitable.

From just a few inches away, Steve murmured, “It’s selfish, but I’m glad… I’m glad I still have you.”

“I feel the same way. I’m so glad you’re still here,” Tony said, feeling too raw to obfuscate any longer, to waste any more time.

“I was so scared. I was so scared you were gone, and I would never even know the truth of it,” Steve said, voice breaking and eyes brimming with tears again.

Tony leaned forward this time and kissed Steve, lifted a hand to brush away his tears with a thumb. “I was terrified too. I spent the trip back to Earth not knowing… not knowing who else I’ve lost. Wondering if you were gone before we ever talked again.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Tony,” Steve whispered again.

Tony remembered Steve’s tears last night, how vulnerable he had allowed himself to be, how he had cracked open when in the past, he had been an impenetrable wall, an immovable barrier. But he had let Tony see him at his lowest yesterday, and he was still here today, curled around Tony. Tony looked into Steve’s clear eyes, open and honest, unflinching after what they shared together.

Tony was done pushing away what he wanted. He knew, with a great rush, that things between Steve and him could be mended, that the trust was broken but could be reforged again. In this shared tragedy, they could relearn their broken edges and fuse them together to strengthen where they joined and overlapped.

Tony didn’t want to face this alone anymore.

“Together, we can do this together,” Tony said, closing his eyes.

“Together,” Steve agreed, running his fingers through Tony’s hair, quiet and comforting. He sounded sleepy as well, voice low and petering off. “There’s no other way but to do this together.”

Tony curled a hand into the back of Steve’s T-shirt and drifted off into sleep.

# # # # # #

When Tony woke again, they were wrapped tighter around each other. His head was pillowed on Steve’s chest, and Steve’s face was pressed into his hair. He could feel Steve’s hand, lax against the back of his head, like Steve had nodded off with his hand in Tony’s hair.

It made Tony feel warm.

Safe.

Less alone.

_‘There’s no other way but to do this together.’_

That was what Steve said. Together. No other way but to do this together.

No other way.

Except…

Except Tony was hearing it in Stephen Strange’s deep voice.

_‘There was no other way.’_

Suddenly, he remembered, he remembered the way Strange had looked at him.

Not afraid, not despairing.

But knowing.

Like he knew what was coming.

_‘There was no other way.’_

That was what Strange had said.

_‘We’re in the end game now.’_

Like there was something else at play, like they hadn’t just lost it all.

Thanos, what had Thanos said to Strange about the Time stone? _‘You never once used your greatest weapon.’_

Except, Strange did. He did use the Time stone.

Not to change the past.

But to see the future.

_‘I looked forward in time to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the common conflict.’_

Tony remembered the exact number, because he was the numbers guy. 14,000,605 futures. Strange had looked into all of them. And he had said that they had won in only one.

One out of fourteen million alternate futures. One way to win.

There was no other way.

No other way but to give the Time stone to Thanos, no other way but to have Tony live.

“That son of a bitch,” Tony said, sitting up suddenly. “Fucking cryptic wizards who can’t just say it straight.”

Steve startled awake, jerking half upright. “What— What?”

Tony turned around and held Steve’s face between his hands, watched those beautiful blue eyes blink hazily at him. He pressed a hard kiss to Steve’s lips, grinning when he felt Steve kiss instinctively back.

“Good morning, Steve,” Tony said from a hair’s breadth away.

“Good morning, Tony,” Steve said dutifully, dazed and confused.

“Let’s get up,” Tony said. “We have half the universe to save.”

Steve blinked again.

Then slowly, he smiled. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

** THE END **

**Author's Note:**

> I’m obsessed with Infinity War, so I hope you enjoyed this fic! Please feel free to point out any issues or mistakes, since this is un-beta-ed.
> 
> I’m so sorry to those who are waiting for Taking the Plunge. It’s almost done, I just needed to get this one off my chest.


End file.
